“Why?” he pleaded. “It will make him better. Let our family physician recommend specialists for him, and we’ll get him what he needs to be comfortable and to have a better quality of life.”
What would happen when Nick was gone? Who would pay for that kind of care once time had inched between them and she was left on her own again?
He cupped her face in his hands, her body tingling with his touch. “Let me do this for you,” he said in a whisper. “Your happiness and security is all I want for Christmas.”
The man who had everything had found something to ask for this Christmas.
“Please,” he said, and his eyes told her that he meant everything he said.
Reluctantly, she nodded, and with a huge grin, he leaned down and kissed her lips.
He pulled back to look at her. “Thank you,” he said.
She smiled at the sight of his happiness. For whatever reason, he wanted to do this for her, and it wasn’t out of pity. It was because he was looking out for her. He was taking care of her, and she didn’t mind it because it was out of affection for her, not obligation.
“I’ll take care of all his medical care,” he said. “If you need anything, let me know. He has an appointment on January fifth with a specialist recommended by our family physician.” He grinned a crooked grin. “You know, just in case you said yes.”
Her limbs felt weak, her head dizzy. She sat down on the sofa to keep herself steady. This was too much. In one conversation, all her problems with Gramps had been solved. Certainly, he’d still have to deal with the Parkinson’s, and her mother would have to help him while also watching Max so she could work, but Gramps might be close to his old self, and that was more than she could’ve hoped for.
“Are you okay?” he asked, sitting down beside her, grinning from ear to ear.
She nodded, tears falling faster than she could hold them back, relief so overwhelming that she felt a sob rise in her chest. Nick wrapped his arms around her and held her. “Merry Christmas,” he said, and kissed the top of her head.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The morning had gone by in a flash, and it was already noon. Abbey and Max were back at her apartment. They had spent the morning with Gramps. Gramps could hardly control his jitters when she’d told him about Nick’s gesture. Then, they’d all cried—her mom, Gramps, and Abbey. It was the most emotional Abbey could remember being in a very long time.
“Look, Mama!” Max had called out, and their tears had turned to laughter. Señor Freckles had allowed Max to pet him. It only lasted a second, and he darted away, but it was more than they’d ever seen him allow in all these years. Perhaps that was his Christmas gift to the family.
“He better not get too cozy,” her mother had teased. “I’ll put a Christmas sweater on him.” They all laughed out loud at that.
They were at the apartment to get clean clothes and do laundry before they went to Nick’s tomorrow. Now, they were doing what they always did the day before Christmas Eve: they were making cookies for Santa. Max was wrist-deep in the dry ingredients, most of them now on the counter or on his shirt.
“Be sure to mix them up really well,” she said with a giggle.
He turned to look at her, and in doing so, moved the wooden spoon a little farther to the edge of the bowl, dumping a lump of flour, sugar, and baking soda onto the counter.
“It’s time to add the wet ingredients,” she said, plugging in the mixer and putting it into the bowl.
They’d made cookies for Santa many times before, but this time would be different. They were taking them over to Nick’s tomorrow. Max had written a note to Santa Claus, explaining the situation, and Abbey had assured him that this kind of thing happened all the time. They’d taped the note to the fireplace mantle. The only other thing they had to do was finish the cookies.
“Will Nick have enough milk?” Max worried aloud.
“I’m sure he will.”
“And a plate for the cookies?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Okay.”
Right about the time they’d put the cookies in the oven, the doorbell buzzed. Abbey wasn’t expecting anyone. She’d cleaned her hands and dried them before opening the door. When she stepped out to look, she nearly tripped over a box.
“Hello, ma’am,” a man said as he came into view. He was writing on a clipboard. “Are you Abbey Fuller?”
“Yes,” she said, wondering what this was all about.
“I just need you to sign here,” he said, and she signed.
“Thank you, and Merry Christmas.”
She smiled in return and picked up the box to carry it inside.